Oh God, how could she be tied to a playboy prince for life? Because no matter that she was the only woman he’d ever gotten pregnant—and it must be true considering the lengths he was going to in order to keep her here—he was still the worst sort of player. Would she become just like her mother, desperate for one man’s affections and willing to put up with whatever he dished out just to be with him?
Worse, would Nico be a fair-weather father?
“He is our child, Lily. You have already tried to deprive him of his birthright with your selfishness.”
She blinked. Selfish? Was she? Was it possible?
“That’s not true,” she said. She sounded defensive to her own ears. And guilty. In protecting her baby, had she really been trying to keep him all to herself? Had she really been afraid Nico would take him away? Or had her motives been purely because she’d believed he was not the kind of man who could be a good father?
“You will do so no longer,” Nico continued. “Daniele is my son, and I will be his father in truth from this moment forward. If you expect to remain in his life, then you will stand before the authorities and agree to be my wife. That is your choice, Lily.”
“That’s not a choice,” she said, her throat aching with the effort to speak normally. “It’s a command.”
Nico’s gaze was unreadable. “Then perhaps we finally understand one another.”
Chapter Five
When Nico had said she needed a suitable wardrobe, Lily hadn’t realized he’d meant to fly her to Paris and visit couture shops that very afternoon. While they were winging their way to France, he’d finally let her call her boss and explain that she wouldn’t be back at work tomorrow as planned.
Hell, she wouldn’t be back at all it appeared, though she didn’t say that. Darrell was curious, but Lily had no words to explain what had happened. She assured him she was safe, said she would email him her impressions of Montebianco along with the photos she’d taken, and ended the call.
Then she looked over at Nico. He was typing on his laptop. “I need to use a computer,” she said firmly. “I have a job to finish.”
“All in good time, Lily.” He didn’t look up.
She tried to keep her cool as she explained. “The paper paid my way here and they expect me to finish the job. I can’t leave them high and dry.”
This time he did look at her. “Of course. But it can wait until we return to Montebianco, yes?”
“I’d prefer to work on it now.”
He closed the lid of his laptop. “Did you not keep notes on your computer?”
“Of course I did. But the police confiscated it.”
“It was turned over to me. You may have it back when we are in Montebianco. And then you may access your notes. Does this work for you?”
A current of frustration zapped her. “Does it work for me? What you really mean is that I don’t have a choice. Why not say so?”
He smiled, though it held no humor. “Your choice, cara, is to wait until we return to Montebianco or to use this laptop.” He looked at his watch and then glanced out the window. “However, you will need to work fast as we will be landing very shortly.”
Lily crossed her arms and looked away. She knew she’d been snappish, but she couldn’t apologize. Not after all he’d put her through the last few hours. When she didn’t say anything, he stowed the laptop. Twenty minutes later, they were on the ground and exiting the plane.
Once they entered Paris, her black mood lifted a little. Seeing the Eiffel Tower as they drove through the streets was exciting. She wanted to see everything, to spend hours exploring the sights she’d only read about, but Nico informed her they did not have time for touring.
Instead, she was ushered in and out of Prada, Versace, Louboutin, Dior, and Hermes—and those were only the names she remembered. She’d never seen such an array of expensive clothes and handbags in her life. Nor had she ever thought she’d own a single piece of clothing from any of them, never mind an entire wardrobe. It was overwhelming to see the bags and boxes piling up.
“Nico, this is ridiculous,” she finally said as they drove to the next shop on his list. “No one needs this much stuff.”
“Principessas do.” He looked up from his paper, half-bored, and gazed at her coolly.
“No one does,” she shot back. Why did he make her feel like she was six years old?
He dropped the paper onto the leather seat of the Rolls Royce with a sigh. “Princess Liliana Cavelli must be as chic and polished as it is possible for any woman to be. She will be the envy of some, the bane of others, and always—” He held up a finger when she would have spoken. “Always she must be elegant and beautiful and a proper representative for Montebianco. She will dine with kings and queens, ambassadors, heads of state, and yes, perhaps even her own American president.”
Lily felt her eyes widen.
“She is the wife of the next king, and the mother to the king after him. She must look the part and she must never, ever bring shame to the Cavelli name—or to her son—by refusing to do so. It is about more than her own desires, after all. It is about duty and honor, and centuries’ old tradition.”
When he put it like that, he made her feel small and petty. She wasn’t used to feeling that way.
“But it seems so extravagant,” she muttered defensively.
“It may appear so now, but you will witness the truth for yourself soon enough. And you would not thank me if I allowed you to be unprepared for the role.”
Lily turned away. Damn him for making her feel like she was the one in the wrong. He was spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on clothing, shoes, handbags, luggage, belts, scarves, coats, and lacy underwear that could be spent on other causes, and yet he made her feel terrible for protesting the expense.
She thought of Danny, of his adorable baby smile and the way his eyes lit up when she came home at the end of each day, and her heart filled with love. Because of this crazy turn of events, her baby would never go hungry, would never do without medicine or a roof over his head or the warmest clothes in winter. He was her entire world. For him, she would wear sackcloth and ashes—or Prada and Gucci.
She despised the idea of accepting so much from Nico and yet she realized she had no choice. Lily vowed in that moment she would teach Danny that money did not make the man. He would not grow up as spoiled and selfish as his father. Somehow, she would make sure he understood.
They didn’t speak again and he went back to reading his paper. Soon, she found herself seated in a posh salon with a team of women hovering over her and one of Nico’s hulking security guards standing by in the corner—yet another reminder her life had changed drastically. She was nobody. Had been nobody. Was she really in danger in a salon? Quite possibly, she supposed. What kind of life would this be, always looking over her shoulder and wondering if danger lurked close by?
A question to which there could be no answer.
Nico waited until work had begun before announcing he had business elsewhere and would return for her in a couple of hours. Lily wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or anxious. She soon realized, however, that Nico’s absence left her with the ability to refuse anyone doing anything with her appearance that she didn’t like
Clothes were one thing. They were impermanent, changeable. But her hair and makeup were another thing all together. Hair grew back, but she wasn’t accepting a cut that wasn’t her. Fortunately, the women were under no orders to transform her into something of Nico’s design.
Once her hair had been washed and trimmed, it was wrapped in some sort of healing hair mask—or perhaps that was masque since she was in France—while two women gave her a pedicure and manicure. A trip to the nail salon had been an indulgence of hers before she’d had Danny. Since he’d been born, she’d not been able to spare any money and she’d forgotten how much she missed it.
When the women were finished and she sat with her hands under a portable dryer, her attention was caught by a woman enterin
g the salon. She had an entourage, and she was easily the most elegant, coolly beautiful woman that Lily had ever seen. She carried a tiny Pomeranian dog in one arm. Sable hair hung halfway down her back, rippling like silk when she turned. Beneath her jacket, she wore vibrant red stilettos with skinny black jeans and a thin sweater that rested mid-thigh. Huge sunglasses looked chic on her, though they would certainly make Lily look like a bug.
That was the kind of woman Nico needed. The kind he wanted her to be. The thought was a little depressing.
The women in the salon flocked to the newcomer, made her comfortable, brought her a delicate little cup of coffee and spoke to her in hushed whispers. A moment later, the woman was on her feet, striding purposefully toward Lily’s chair.
She whipped off the dark glasses, her reddened eyes spearing Lily with a glare. “You are Liliana Morgan?”
“Uh, yes,” Lily replied, too shocked to correct her name. And too horrified. She’d only seen a couple of pictures, but she recognized the woman standing over her so angrily.
“I,” she said imperiously, “am Antonella Romanelli. I believe you have stolen my fiancé.”
Lily swallowed. Oh. Dear. God.
“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “Truly I am.” Did she explain everything to this woman? Keep her mouth shut and hope she would go away? What did one do when confronted by an angry princess?
Antonella propped a bejeweled hand on one lean hip. “Of all the places, yes? Here I am, running from Montebianco to soothe my wounded pride, and you appear. Could the world be any crueler?”
Surprisingly, her eyes filled with tears. Lily found herself reaching for the princess’s arm almost without thought. But what could she say that would help?
Antonella shifted out of reach before Lily touched her. “I have a habit of chasing away prospective grooms.”
She grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and dabbed at her nose. Her gaze moved over Lily, not rudely, but assessing. “How has he chosen you? What have you done to him? Dio, I do not see it,” she said. “Surely a child is not enough to make a difference.”
“I’m sorry for your pain, Your Highness,” Lily said, smarting from the remark and feeling her temper rising in spite of the princess’s obvious distress, “but not everyone is as privileged or as beautiful as you. And my son is none of your concern.”
Antonella laughed, a sweet sound that had no humor in it. “Oh my dear girl, forgive me for insulting you, but you cannot know what you’ve cost me. You cannot know.”
Before Lily could reply, the princess was striding across the room, snapping her fingers and speaking in rapid Italian. She took her dog from an assistant as her entourage regrouped and scrambled to follow her out the door.
Lily numbly watched her progress, a horrifying realization striking her—Princess Antonella was in love with Nico. Did that mean that Nico was in love with the gorgeous princess? Had Lily ruined more than just a treaty and expectations, as he’d described it?
Her stomach twisted. She forced the pain down. She didn’t care if he was in love with someone else. She really didn’t.
She continued to tell herself that for the rest of the afternoon as the women in the salon worked on her hair and makeup. No one mentioned Princess Antonella and the woman didn’t return.
But that didn’t make the knot in Lily’s stomach go away any quicker.
By the time Lily was finished in the salon, she barely recognized herself. Once the treatment had been washed from her hair, it had been blown out into a sleek mass of shiny, silky platinum before being pulled back into an elegant ponytail. Though Lily was no stranger to cosmetics, with a baby to look after she didn’t usually have the time or the money for more than a tube of lip gloss and mascara. Now she’d been shown how to apply a hint of blush and eyeshadow to accent her natural features. Her lips were a pale pink, and her lashes were long and lush.
She’d been shown to a dressing room where a selection of clothing from today’s excursion waited for her. She changed into the slim pencil skirt and white top with tiny pearl buttons down the front. A wide black belt, silk trench coat, and sky-high patent pumps finished the ensemble. She rolled up her jeans and sweatshirt and shoved them into the oversized Fendi bag that sat on the cream damask chaise, then studied herself in the mirror.
Did she look like a princess? Maybe. She certainly looked more elegant than she ever had in her life.
But she still felt like Lily Morgan from the wrong side of town, the girl with a chain-smoking, hard-drinking mother and an absentee father. She thought of Princess Antonella, of her beauty and sadness, and felt like the worst kind of human being. She’d come between two people who were right for each other. Worse, she was almost glad for it in a perverse kind of way. When she thought of Nico holding his princess, kissing her—
Lily shivered. Well, she just couldn’t think of it, that’s all.
Lily left the salon with the guard at her elbow, guiding her toward the idling Rolls Royce under the awning a few feet away. They were almost to the car when a bright light flashed in her face. And then another and another.
The guard shielded her with his body, moving her forward the entire time as voices called to her in French and flashbulbs lit up the surrounding area like lightning. A second later the car door opened, and she was thrust inside. Her pulse fluttered unsteadily as she craned her neck to watch the scene disappear behind her.
“Put this on,” a smooth voice said.
Lily spun around, her heart in her throat, to face Nico. She hadn’t even known he was in the car. She’d been overwhelmed with the attention from the reporters, and then the security guard had pushed her firmly inside and the car sped away.
Nico’s gaze flicked over her. Was that approval she saw? Oddly enough, she wanted his approval. The thought was not a welcome one and she dropped her gaze to look at her clasped hands, her heart refusing to beat normally. She was a small-town girl. She wasn’t used to all this attention or scrutiny. Not from reporters, and not from a prince.
“Lily,” he said, and she realized he held out a box. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it. She didn’t bother to ask what it was. She simply opened the lid. The blood drained from her head as she contemplated the sparkling ring.
“It’s very big,” she said. “A very pretty sapphire.”
Nico grasped the box and tugged the ring free. “It is a diamond.” He took her hand and slipped it onto her finger before she could protest. The ring was too big and twisted beneath the weight of the diamond. Nico frowned. “We will have it sized in Montebianco.”
“I can’t wear this,” Lily said, horrified at the size and weight of the hunk of metal and rocks on her hand. A blue diamond? So blue it looked like a sapphire? How much did something like that cost? She didn’t even want to think about it.
“This is your engagement ring. You will wear it.”
Hurt and confusion cascaded through her as she searched his face. Was he thinking of Antonella? But his expression was emotionless.
Her gaze dropped to her hand and the strange weight on her finger. She’d envisioned shopping for rings someday with a man she loved, going from store to store and trying them on, searching for the perfect one. It would be a joyful thing they shared, not a chore or a duty. Or a command.
This ring was nothing like she’d imagined her engagement ring would one day be.
“I don’t like it,” she said, then regretted it the instant their eyes met. His expression was bored. Irritated. He did not care. If he’d told her it was a family heirloom and he was expected to give it to his bride, at least she would have known this meant something to him. But no, he’d walked into a jeweler’s—or sent someone, more like—and told them to bring him a rare, expensive ring. This was about status. Not tradition, not their child, and certainly not about love.
What would he have chosen for Antonella?
No. She couldn’t go there, she simply couldn’t. Lily closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
&nb
sp; “It’s too late,” he said. “No doubt someone has already rung the press to inform them I bought this ring. It cannot be taken back.”
Lily stared at the diamond, its glittering mass like a huge neon sign of ownership. Everything between them would be very public. Every look, every gesture, every word. Everything he did was for the cameras. In the space of a day, her life had turned into a reality show. The paparazzi were already swarming if the incident a few moments ago was any indication. Would she ever know a moment’s happiness, aside from the time she spent with Danny?
“How did New Orleans happen?” she said softly, realizing how uncharacteristic it must have been for him. He moved in his own circles, not in hers. It was an anomaly that they’d even met.
Nico studied her. She thought she saw a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. But it was gone quickly, and she decided she’d imagined it.
“My life was different then.”
“So why me?” She wanted to know, especially now that she knew first-hand the world he came from. Had seen the kind of women he was linked with in the pages of magazines the world over. Women unlike her. Glamorous women, gorgeous women.
Women like Princess Antonella.
“Because you did not know my identity. I found it novel.”
The truth was raw, like an open wound, and he’d just poured salt onto it. Of course, she hadn’t known him. She was from a small town in Louisiana, not a glamorous metropolis. Oh, what a cliché she’d been. The country mouse in the big bad city. Everything about New Orleans was grand, and different than she was accustomed to. Clearly, it had affected her judgment. She’d allowed herself to be swept away by his attention and charm, and by the wild abandon of Mardi Gras.
“If not for Danny, I could wish we’d never met,” she replied.
He shoved a hand through his hair, the gesture full of frustration and regret. “Si, I wish this too. But it is too late now. You are the mother of my child. Nothing can change that.”
Filthy Rich Prince: A Filthy Rich Billionaires Book Page 5
